Wanting and Kneading
by Digitallace
Summary: spelling is intentional: Draco takes a vacation, in attempt to relax, when a sudden run-in with Harry Potter might make that impossible -two shot
1. Part 1 Of all the massage parlors

Authors Note: Yay! so here's a new oneshot I've been working on, and it's actually a bit long, so I decided to make it a twoshot. lol. This first part was beta'ed by my lovely Shannon and my newest addition to Team Awesome: Devin. Yay Devin! I hope you enjoy and the 2nd part will be posted shortly. (As always my yahoo group whose link you can find on my profile contains the Header art for this fic and all of my others)

**Wanting and Kneading**

**Chapter 1 Of All the Massage Parlors in all the World…**

The room was lovely, covered in floor to ceiling teak slats stained a deep chocolate brown. Faint green lines played randomly across Draco's pale skin as he luxuriated on a plush lounge chair and flipped distractedly through a magazine. The emerald lines crisscrossing his bare chest, put there by the massive wall of backlit cut bamboo, made it hard for him to read the vapid articles in the muggle tabloid he had picked up.

No loss really, only that there wasn't much else to do and the only other person in the room with him hardly looked interesting enough to bother striking up a conversation with. So he was left there to ponder on who this 'Lily Allen' character was and why the magazine portrayed her to be such a drugged up tart. He rarely paid any attention to muggle pop culture, as there was hardly any need. Whatever shops or establishments muggles had, no doubt there was a wizarding version that was better, but that hardly explained what Draco was doing basking in the Galgorm Resort and Spa, which was clearly a very muggle hotel.

The truth of it was that Draco didn't know precisely why he was there either, aside from the fact that his mother suggested it and he rarely ignored his mother's advice. He'd certainly been feeling stressed lately, what with his exhausting career as owner and founder of a non-profit organization that served to provide financial relief to those most affected by the war. It took Draco nearly five years to build the company from the ground up –longer even than it took to rebuild the massive school of Hogwarts after the damage it sustained- and now just a few years in, Draco was beginning to feel the weight of what he had created crushing in around him.

He had originally started the organization for purely selfish reasons, wanting to put a fresh and kind face on the name 'Malfoy' after they were nearly crucified in the Death Eater trials. It wasn't but six months in, however, that he started to meet some of the families he would be helping and discovered the truth of what had happened to so many good and decent people in the war that he had stood on the wrong side of.

Not that he was sentimental, but Draco felt a new purpose and drive with his endeavor that took him further than the mere personal gain would have. He worked longer, harder and gave more of himself to the project than he had ever planned and in the end was rewarded with the toasty feelings of waking up in the morning and knowing that he had made a difference.

Unfortunately it also rewarded him with poor posture, terrible backaches from sitting behind a desk all day and a throbbing head that just wouldn't cease from having to deal with the media all the time. This coupled with the fact that he had been working so hard over the past few years made it so that he never bothered to try and meet anyone, and he found on the rare occasions he was able to rest, that he was terribly lonely.

As soon as his mother laid eyes on him that morning she had insisted he make an appointment here, so he did and found himself enjoying the silence for a change.

Well, perhaps not silence, because there was a faint earthy music drifting through the room, but certainly not the ruckus of assistants all vying for his attention or the press trying to snap photos of him eating lunch. It was as if the sudden disappearance of Harry Potter four years ago made Draco their new number one target. But it was peaceful there in the hotel spa with his tray of tea, candles and wild purple orchids, lounging on soft linens and surrounded by luxury.

His body was still slightly damp from his soak in the spa's opulent pool and he was forced to remember to tighten the towel around his waist when one of the hotel employee's came to fetch him for his massage appointment.

"How did you enjoy our infinity hydrotherapy pool Mr. Malfoy?" the young redhead asked as she led Draco down a long hall made entirely of horizontal wooden slats interspersed with modern nature paintings and sculptures.

"It was relaxing," he replied distractedly as he held tightly to his towel, the only article of clothing on his body at the moment.

"Excellent," she beamed as she opened the door to a private room with a large massage table and rich fabric covered walls that draped up into a point at the center of the room. "Well, I've arranged for Nadia to work with you today. She's one of our most beautiful masseuses. Your mother called and insisted," she told him with a wink.

Draco frowned and shook his head lightly. "What if I were to say I preferred your most handsome masseur?" he replied.

The woman looked confused at first and then broke into a cheeky grin. "I see, well, there is Hans," she offered.

"The name Hans makes him sound… big," Draco said with a grimace. He had an aversion to men who were overly built and buff, as he preferred not to be crushed.

"He is," she replied and then sensed that trait might be a problem and nodded with another wink. "I have just the one for you then. Disrobe and lay down over there," she instructed as she pointed to the heavily padded table in the middle of the room before leaving him alone once more.

The room was dimly lit with candles and little else so that it was fairly dark and had a romantic feeling. He flushed slightly at the thought, wondering what the spa employee must think he intended to happen while he was in there by asking for a handsome man. This wasn't some seedy 'happy ending' massage parlor and he wouldn't participate in such nonsense anyway, but he could at least fantasize that the man rubbing him down was his lover and not a paid massage therapist. That would be a far easier thing for Draco to do if his masseur were closer to the kind of man he might actually take as a lover.

Draco just hoped the girl wasn't off telling the other employees of the dirty English man in room two.

He quickly removed his towel and draped it over the chair in the corner of the room, only to retrieve it again when he realized he was suddenly much too modest to just lay naked and exposed on the table for some unknown stranger. So, instead he climbed onto the table, laid face down and attempted to cover his bum with the towel, which was quite the feat from that position since he didn't have his wand and wanted to make certain everything was properly covered.

The aroma of the room was intoxicating, flooding his senses with the fragrance of the orient. Lemongrass, sweet orange and lavender all coated his body like a warm and comforting blanket. His stress began to ebb away at once and he nearly fell asleep when he heard the door open and someone step into the room.

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Harry was folding towels by the sauna when Emily came straight up to him and whispered in his ear. "I have the perfect client for you."

"Oh?" Harry asked, mildly entertained by her constant enthusiasm. He'd been working there for nearly four years, having bolted from his central London flat and Auror job in the middle of the night to find something else to do with his rut of a life. He had left in search of happiness and he had found it, or at least close to it, in the beautiful woodland setting of Northern Ireland.

Harry had originally stopped there for the hotel, thinking the lovely white manor would be a welcomed respite from his long journey through Europe and he fell in love with the nearby towns and all the people who lived and worked there.

One night at dinner, his waiter casually mentioned that they were in need of another spa employee and Harry jumped at the opportunity. He didn't even know what had possessed him to, but he told them that if the other hotel staff trained him, he would be their man. He'd never left after that.

They didn't pay him, because he was hardly in need of money. They simply let him stay in one of the self-catering cottages along side the river in exchange for his employ and he worked very hard to become one of the best the hotel had to offer in massage therapy. It was mutually beneficial, as the hotel got an on-call masseur on staff at a fraction of the cost to hire one and Harry had no paper trail linking him to Ireland, not to mention the small elite resort.

It was a fulfilling career, getting to work with his hands to make others feel better, but the best part for Harry was getting to meet so many different personalities each day, none of which judged him for his actions in the war or since, because they didn't know who he really was. It was often times just as relaxing for Harry to be in the spa as it was for the guests.

Emily had taken to him at once and they often had lunch together or drinks after their shift ended. She had been vastly disappointed when Harry informed her that he was gay, but shifted gears at once into trying to set her friend up with the best men she could find. Whenever she came over to him with 'the perfect client' he knew she meant another good looking gay man.

"You know I don't date clients," Harry chastised for what he felt was the hundredth time.

"He's gorgeous, Harry," she informed him, clearly not listening to his protest. "And you don't have to date him, just fuck him so that you'll stop being so cranky."

"Emily," he hissed with narrowed eyes. "I'm not having sex with a client and I'm not being cranky," he informed her firmly.

"Whatever you say," Emily replied with a wink and patted him on the bum. "You'll thank me later," she added in a singsong voice and flitted off back down the hall toward the reception desk.

"Doubtful," Harry called after her, but she only laughed and pointed toward the door where Harry's new client awaited.

Harry sighed and grabbed one of the freshly folded towels before heading toward the room. As soon as he entered a slightly familiar voice began speaking to him.

"I heard laughing in the hall outside, was that girl making fun of me?" the man asked, somewhat distressed sounding, which was not at all how someone being pampered should sound.

"Hardly," Harry assured him and began to gather his things and line the counter with them. "Emily thinks she's quite funny, but she's sorely mistaken I'm afraid."

"So she wasn't talking about me?" the man asked again.

"No, she was attempting to tease me," Harry replied and ran his hand smoothly along the man's back trying to calm him. "You're very tense, you should relax and leave your worries for another time," he whispered.

From what Harry could see the man was stunning, and if his morals were looser he might have thanked Emily after all, but that was out of the question. He liked his job, his home, and his friends and would not be propositioning a stranger for a date.

"That accent," the man observed. "Clearly you're not from here."

"No, I moved here from London a few years back," Harry commented idly as he warmed his hands over the hot stones in the corner.

"For the job?" the man asked.

"To escape," Harry replied honestly. "London was full of people who misunderstood me and tried to use me." It was always rather cathartic to be able to talk to his clients about parts of his life. Clearly he couldn't tell them everything, but there wasn't much safer a person to talk with than a muggle at a hotel spa in Ireland. No one he knew would ever find him there, he was fairly certain of it.

"I know the feeling," the man groaned. "I'm a bit of a public figure there myself and it's exhausting."

"Well I can always see if they're hiring here," Harry replied cheekily and began to rub a thin sheen of oil on the man's shoulders and back.

"How nice it would be to just escape," he sighed and began to melt against Harry's hands.

There wasn't much talking for a few moments as Harry kneaded the man's slender back. He was amused to see that the man was shy enough to cover up with a towel and wondered how he would broach the subject when it came time to remove it. It was a full body massage after all.

He relished in the moans and groans that escaped the stranger's lips, even though it was the only pleasure he would be giving the man, Harry was still excited that he was so well received. He let his mind wander, thinking of how the stranger would feel in his bed, but shook it off the moment he lifted the man's pale arm.

There in dark green relief, looking as though it had been scraped and cut, was a skull and snake tattoo, and Harry's heart began to race. He tried not to let his body show the anxiety that he was starting to feel as the pale skin, platinum hair and dark mark all indicated who he was touching.

Draco Malfoy.

"Nice tattoo," he commented, but the offending arm was promptly yanked out of his reach as the man attempted to roll over. Harry stopped him by gently massaging his neck, which seemed to calm the man slightly and then he changed the subject trying to determine if he was correct about the stranger's identity.

"So you said you were in the public eye? Would I know you?" Harry asked calmly, not trying to give away that he knew who he was.

"Doubtful," the man chuckled. "I'm in sort of a… special sector."

"So then what brings you up here?" he asked as casually as he could manage.

"My mother suggested a stay here to relieve some stress. It's working, but not as well as it could, I imagine." He groaned lowly as Harry continued to rub his neck, guiding the man to keep looking the other way. If Harry was correct, and it really was Malfoy beneath his fingertips, then he had no intention of letting the man know who he was alone with.

"Are you here alone then?" Harry asked, and his own question thrilled him. Was it possible that their meeting was a simple coincidence and that Malfoy would be quickly moving on, unknowingly having run into the Boy Who Lived on his vacation?

"Yes, I am. I'm here for the week," he replied, his voice dropping into a low and almost suggestive octave. "I don't suppose you'd know of someone who might keep me company for dinner tonight?"

Harry nearly laughed out loud at the irony of Draco Malfoy hitting on him. Something he might have hoped for before he left but was now just a wistful dream. It was made even funnier since Malfoy clearly didn't know who he was even talking to. "Are you asking me on a date, Sir?" Harry asked brazenly, and continued to trail warm oiled hands down Malfoy's back, letting them graze just below the towel's edge. If he was going to have to put up with Malfoy in his hotel he should at least be able to have a bit of fun at the prat's expense.

Draco squirmed beneath his touch, and more than ever he was convinced that it was in fact the Malfoy heir. "I might be, if you're open to it," he replied at last.

Harry grinned and removed the terrycloth towel that covered Draco's bum, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. He ground his fingers into the pert flesh and smiled wider when Malfoy nearly arched into the touch with a heated moan. "I sort of have a policy about not dating clients," Harry replied softly, letting his words contradict his actions and watching to see how Malfoy would handle it.

"I understand," Draco sighed, seemingly resigned and perhaps even disappointed. Harry was both relieved and slightly put out that his decline was so easily accepted, but then Malfoy surprised him. "I do make pleasant company however. Perhaps- if you're not already busy that is- you could just join me for a drink?"

It wasn't the question, Harry had been asked out by plenty of people since he started working at the hotel and was very proficient in politely turning them all down and still making his tip, but it was the sullen manner with which Malfoy asked that made Harry pause.

"How do you know you'd even like to get drinks with me? You don't know me from Adam," he replied, curious to hear Malfoy's answer. It was fairly obvious that the blonde had no idea who it was massaging him as his face continued to stare at the ground and it made Harry's heart thud slightly to think that Malfoy seemed interested in him after all their time apart.

But then maybe he just thought that a gay masseuse would be an easy lay.

"You seem friendly, and I could use a friend," he replied. "Someone who doesn't know me, or judge me."

"I'm not your guy," Harry replied sullenly, feeling as though the game was over after all. He knew Malfoy far to well to be an impartial ear to whatever sordid drama had been going on in his life since he left. He stepped away from the table and walked briskly to the door, letting the back of his head fall against it when it was shut again.

"What's wrong?" Emily asked when she saw him. "Did he get grabby?" she demanded, her eyes alight with accusation.

"No, he didn't do anything. I just had to get out of there, can you assign someone else to finish?" Harry pleaded.

"Harry, what's the matter?" she asked again, not letting the subject drop.

"I know him," Harry answered at last. "From London," he fibbed. "I just… he can't know that I'm here, okay?" he begged, and put all of his worry into his eyes as he did.

"Did you used to date him?" she asked curiously.

"No, just… just do this one favor for me, okay?" Harry asked and bolted down the hallway before she gave her answer.

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Confusion washed over Draco more powerfully than the warm scents that accosted his nose. He had felt an uncanny connection to the mysterious man and then he had just abruptly left. He never would have been so bold if he hadn't thought that there might be something there, something outside of a paid companionship, but had he really offended him so severely? He could really do with getting to know someone outside of the bustle of his life back home and hated the idea of eating alone in his room. If he wanted to be alone he would have just stayed home.

The door opened and Draco tensed, waiting to hear what excuse the man would come up with for leaving so suddenly, but it was a woman's voice he heard instead and he turned to see the same flame haired woman who had led him to the room. She winced slightly at the look of clear dismay he gave her and shrugged. "He wasn't feeling so well so I'm going to have Frederick finish you up, I hope that's alright."

"He seemed so familiar," Draco mused out loud.

"Oh?" she replied noncommittally. "Yeah, Harry gets that a lot. He has that sort of aura about him."

"Harry?" Draco asked, the puzzle pieces clicking together at once. He often had dreams of those strong hands on his body and never had he imagined it would feel as good as it did. Could it be true? The voice, the genuinely calming presence he always got around other magical folk, the time frame for when the boy said he came to work there even matched up with his disappearance from London.

Was it truly possible that Harry Potter had been living here among Muggles all that time with no one the wiser?

"No, I said Henry, that was Henry who just left," she corrected, her face flushing a pale pink.

"Did he know it was me?" Draco demanded with an immediate and seething anger, ignoring her ridiculous cover up. "Is that why Potter left, because he realized who I was?"

"Bit of a violent one, hm?" she asked with pursed lips. "How does someone like you know Harry, anyhow? Obviously you two come from totally different worlds."

Draco laughed out loud at the nonsense and shook his head. "Harry and I are two of a kind, sweetheart. I've been looking for him for years and here he is, working with you, acting like he's one of you," Draco growled and leapt up from the table, forgetting momentarily that he was completely starkers.

Emily smirked and threw him a towel, although she tossed it wide so that he had to reach for it and expose himself more. "Well, I can certainly see why he bothered to know you to begin with," she noted with a wink. "But what did you do to make him run?"

"I didn't make him run," Draco protested unconvincingly. "I tried to find him, even after his friends gave up and moved on, I still kept look-outs, but I should have known how clever he'd be about it all. Hiding here was perfect, really. If not for my mother I would have never found him," Draco whispered in slight awe.

"Well, you should just take off I think. Harry doesn't want to see you, and if you care about him then you won't tell anyone where he is," she reasoned, clearly not understanding any of it.

"I care about him more than someone like you could ever know. He's a hero back where we come from, a celebrity. He deserves better than to be rubbing stranger's arses," Draco spat.

"He wasn't too good for it when it was your arse," she pointed out smartly.

Draco simply rolled his eyes and drifted into memories that he'd thought he'd gotten over. "After the war, I thought we could be something more to one another. I tried everything I could to impress him and get his attention, but all of it in vein. Sure he'd flirt occasionally, but never so much that it led anywhere," he whispered, more to himself than to the confused looking woman in the doorway.

"What war?" she asked, frowning deeply.

Draco simply ignored her and pressed on. "There was a ball at the Ministry and I was finally going to tell him how I felt. I wore my best robes and styled my hair the way I knew he liked it and I waited for him to arrive… but he never showed up. I found out in the papers the next day that he was gone, stolen away in the middle of the night."

He didn't know why he was pouring everything out to the strange muggle woman, other than the fact that she was there and wouldn't know what to do with the information anyhow.

"So you both worked in government?" she asked, having taken a seat during his last bit of story.

"He does, did, sort of," Draco replied. "We thought he had been kidnapped though, and for a while it was a huge deal, entire teams of Aur- law enforcement were after him, but in time it was pretty clear that he had left of his own accord. That's when Granger and Weasley gave up looking, the rest of the world followed soon after."

"Ron and Hermione? Yeah, he's told me about them. He misses them a lot," she told him sadly.

"Well, he wouldn't have to miss them if he came back with me," Draco replied snidely. "But there's not much of a chance of that if he runs off at the first sight of me."

"Maybe…" she began and then sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "He lives here at the hotel. I shouldn't tell you this but he's been depressed lately, and it keeps getting worse. I think he's homesick in a way. Don't tell him I told you, but he's got a cottage on the edge of the grounds," she informed him hurriedly and walked to the door.

"Thanks," Draco whispered, feeling an honest gratitude toward the muggle woman. "Does… does he ever mention Draco Malfoy?"

She shook her head sadly. "No, not to me, but he did mention a bloke back in London he had a crush on, maybe that was you?" she suggested.

"I doubt it, but thanks for trying to cheer me," Draco replied with a soft chuckle.

"If you're going to go after him you should do it soon. Harry has a way of… disappearing and if he doesn't want to be found he won't be," she warned.

"That's not a recent trait," Draco assured her and took off, firm grip on his towel, toward the lockers so he could retrieve his clothes.

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"Damn that Emily," Harry gripped, assuming his friend tattled and unable to think of another plausible reason why a certain blonde Slytherin would be skulking around in his front yard.

He took a deep and shuddering breath and jerked open the door, nearly smiling when Malfoy jumped clear out of his skin. "You just couldn't leave well enough alone could you?" Harry asked, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

"I'm notorious for it, you of all people should know that about me, Harry," Draco replied, striding up the stone path to stand directly in front of him.

"There's a lot that I know about you, Malfoy, but why you're stalking me here is not one of them," he said with narrowed eyes. He was certain the blonde was trying to trick him into going back to London, but no amount of luscious pale skin or piercing gray eyes were going to achieve that.

"You injure me, Harry. I thought we were friends before you left," Draco responded softly. "Did our late night pub trips and heated debates over magic-muggle equality mean nothing to you?"

Harry remembered them well; it was one of the things he missed most when he left. The camaraderie he had felt with Malfoy during those last few months kept building until Harry had begun to dream about him and even think of him as more than a friend.

It was also one of the reasons why he ran.

Harry was falling for the unyielding blonde, and he had no idea whether his feelings were reciprocated or whether he was just falling for an enigma. He had been home picturing Draco at the Ministry ball the night he finally made his decision to leave. It was easy to imagine the Slytherin spinning a lovely date around the dance floor and then leaving with that person while Harry sat in the corner pining after something that was virtually untouchable.

He couldn't let his life go on that way. He hated his job, his friends had all grown distant with their own lives taking hold and there Harry sat -alone and unwanted. So he left, drained his accounts, gave away all his things to neighbors and took off to find a place where he could be needed and wanted and happy.

Two out of three wasn't bad.

He couldn't very well spill all that nonsense out into the open, however, so he simply shrugged. "Are you going to send the Prophet after me now? Draco Malfoy unwittingly discovers the hiding place of Harry Potter?" he asked in a booming reporter voice.

"Only if you refuse dinner with me," Draco replied sharply.

"Why should I have dinner with you? You're the past, Malfoy, you have no place in my life anymore and you won't convince me to come back," Harry said firmly.

"I won't even try to convince you," Draco replied eagerly, but Harry only narrowed his eyes at the obvious lie. "Okay, so I'd be daft not to try, but if you're so happy and strong willed as you say, then it shouldn't matter."

Harry sighed, letting all the air flow out of him before taking another deep gulp. Unfortunately his new air tasted of Malfoy and he found himself nodding in agreement. "Fine," he stated at last. "I'll meet you in the dining room bar at eight."

Draco beamed and bowed. "You honor me, Harry." And with that he spun on his heel and left Harry standing in the doorway, a shudder raining down his spine.

"What did I just agree to?" he asked himself as he shut the door and began to mentally prepare himself for the onslaught the sexy Slytherin no doubt had in store for him.

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Authors Note: Oiled up Draco's for all!!


	2. Part 2 Ruby Slippers

Authors Note: And here is part two of the twoshot. Many thanks to Shannon for her beta work and I hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 2 Ruby Slippers

Nothing in his closet seemed appropriate to wear for a dinner with an old flame. Not even a flame really, but more of a faint sizzle that got doused with water before a spark could occur. Harry was past it though; he had moved on and he was no longer harboring romantic feelings for the man who had tracked him down.

Of all the people to have located him, why did it have to be Malfoy? Ron or even Hermione would have been far preferable to the blonde he just couldn't seem to say 'no' to. He didn't even know what it was about the former Slytherin that made his knees so weak and his belly flutter, but there was something there before he left London, and it was still there now, just waiting to attack him if he got too close.

He'd be lying if he said that his leaving had nothing to do with the Death Eater turned charity mogul, but he'd also be lying if he said it was _only_ about him. It may have been the final straw, but it was by no means the only straw that had broken that particular camel's back.

Beyond his growing and nonsensical affection toward the man he had loathed before the war there was also the fact that his job was terrible. He hated being an Auror, hated it with his whole being. It kept him on an insane schedule that never allotted much –if any- time for a personal life. When he was home he was lonely, when he was at the office he was bored out of his mind with paperwork and when he was in the field he was constantly wondering what had made him want the job in the first place. His debt to the wizarding community should have ended with Voldemort's death and Harry no longer felt the nagging desire to help people in a way that put himself in danger at every turn.

He far preferred the job he had now, working with his hands to bring people relaxation and pleasure. It suited him and he left every day feeling content and warm, if still a little lonely.

His job back in London was probably the worst factor, but then there was also the celebrity and pomp he had to deal with on a daily basis. After a string of sour relationships, most of which went directly to _Witch Weekly_ to blab about their dates with the reclusive Harry Potter, the reporters vying for his photo or a scandalous interview nearly quadrupled. By the time he left it had become impossible to even take out the garbage without running into a tabloid leech.

This had an even worse impact on his love life, which was virtually nonexistent at the time he decided to flee London. All the people he met within his last year there either wanted only to glean their own fifteen minutes of fame from his reputation or they wanted nothing to do with the publicity and therefore kept their distance.

Seeing Ron and Hermione made it even worse because they were so busy with their own relationship and family and all the other things Harry wanted to experience for himself. It hardly seemed fair.

Then came Malfoy. He was right though, at the end he wasn't Malfoy at all, he was Draco.

It had all began one afternoon at a luncheon devoted to the protection of muggles who had magical family members. The Ministry was trying to be proactive in making sure these families would remain safe in the event of another magical war. The host of the party was none other than Draco Malfoy and his non-profit agency 'Magical Executives Opposing War', whose acronym Harry always found hilarious.

Harry hadn't seen much of his formal rival before that luncheon; he occasionally read an article about Malfoy schmoozing some foreign diplomat, or some blurb about an award he had won, and even sometimes a tabloid cover with him snogging a supermodel. None of it ever really stuck with him though, and as he made his way around the room chatting with fundraisers and Ministry officials, he was surprised when the ambitious blonde approached him as if they had always been the best of friends.

"Harry," he called smoothly across the short distance between them. "So good to see you, again."

Harry simply rolled his eyes and wondered how much of a donation he would be expected to make toward Malfoy's cause-of-the-week. "Nice party," he replied, ignoring Malfoy's extended hand.

"I'm happy you could make it. Come with me, there's someone I would like you to meet," Draco replied with a slick grin.

Silently groaning to himself, Harry followed dutifully, as was custom at these sorts of events. The Potter image was a hot commodity at any fundraising event and he always did his part to raise money for people affected by the war.

"Harry, this is Madeline Forester, chairwoman for the American Magical Alliance. She's working with our company to develop an alert system for everyone in the magical communities for when a Death Eater is spotted in their area. With both our groups working together, there will be far less places for the scoundrels to hide," he explained.

"Brilliant," Harry replied with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. It really was a good thing they were doing, but Harry just wasn't in the mood for any of it. He had just broken up with another bloke the night before and Luna had informed him that his ex was already snooping around the magazines looking for a reporter to pay him for his story. Harry just couldn't seem to win.

Malfoy gave him a puzzled look and excused them from Mrs. Forester's company, pulling Harry gently by the arm toward the bathrooms. "Harry, are you alright?" he asked when they were out of earshot. "This is your arena; you should be a pro at this by now."

"Would you stop acting like we're best mates?" Harry hissed. "It's unsettling."

"I'm only trying to be friendly, Harry," Draco replied, looking taken aback.

"Stop calling me 'Harry'. Since when do you do that?" he spat. "And not that it's any of your business but this luncheon is the last thing I need today." He carefully rubbed his temples as he tried to stave off the headache that was tromping through his brain, and also trying to ignore Draco's look of incredulity.

"Stay right here," Malfoy ordered at last and then strode back to the group in the dining hall.

Harry had no idea what to make of the Slytherin's erratic behavior, but thought the idea of staying put by the loo and out of the way of chatty guests sounded like a brilliant plan, so he obeyed.

A few moments later the man returned looking purposeful and looped his arm through Harry's. "Ready?" he asked expectantly.

"Ready for what?" Harry asked in return, but instead of a verbal answer he got a lurching feeling in the pit of his stomach as Draco apparated them away from the luncheon.

He wobbled on his feet for a second as the world shifted and reformed in front of him and once he had his bearings again, he rounded on the intrusive blonde. "What in bloody hell do you think you're doing!" he shouted, shoving the man away from him. "You can't just side-apparate without any warning, I could have been splinched you ignorant prat!"

"I had everything under control, Harry. Why don't you just calm down and come have a drink with me?" he asked coolly as he headed toward the entrance of a nearby pub.

"I'm not going anywhere with you, _Malfoy_," he spat, putting extra emphasis on the man's last name in order to show him how inappropriate it was for Malfoy to be using his given name.

Draco however seemed unfazed and merely shrugged. "Suit yourself, you know where I am if you get lonely out here."

Harry scowled across the sidewalk at his former schoolboy rival and crossed his arms over his chest defiantly as Draco disappeared into the pub. He must have stood that way, outraged by the liberties Malfoy had taken with him, for nearly ten minutes before he started feeling childish and followed the man inside.

He nearly walked out again when Malfoy shot him a knowing smirk but in the end he decided a pint might do him some good to ease the stress he was feeling at the eminent release of another sordid breakup tale in the papers.

"I ordered you a Beamish," Draco announced when Harry took his seat next to him.

"You were that confident that I would join you?" Harry asked, one eyebrow cocked into the fringe of his hair as he observed Malfoy's easy smile. He didn't bother asking how Draco knew what he would order because it had to have been a coincidence.

"A Malfoy is always confident," he replied, shifting into another smug grin.

Harry rolled his eyes and focused his attention away from the Slytherin's pale and smirking face and over to the worn wooden counter. He took the mug of beer when the bartender passed it to him and gulped at it greedily while Draco sipped at whatever he had ordered.

It was halfway empty when he finally sighed and relaxed a bit. "I needed that," he groaned, leaning his elbow against the counter and turning his attention toward Malfoy once more. "So tell me about this new cheery Malfoy."

Draco chuckled and shook his head. "You're the one in need of a listener, not me. What had you moping about my fundraiser?"

He watched the other man hesitantly for a moment, wondering why he would even care. Would there be a new article running the next day on 'suicidal Harry Potter confesses depression to oldest enemy'? It was then that he realized he didn't care. If that was what Malfoy was after, he could have it, the entire juicy gossip of Harry's life would be laid out for him to judge as he saw fit.

"I broke things off with my boyfriend last night," Harry admitted.

"And now he's going to the papers?" Draco observed smartly.

"Exactly," Harry replied with a nod.

"And what will he be saying?" Draco asked, shifting a bit closer to where Harry sat, still nursing his pint.

Harry shrugged and tried not to shift away. "Who knows? Truth, lies, take your pick, it hardly matters to the public."

"True," Draco agreed. "It was like that tabloid they did on me and Giselle. Sure I was molesting her in public, but they failed to mention that we had been dating for nearly a year. She sacked me after that article came out."

"They're always twisting things," Harry muttered.

"What was his name, Otis right?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, how did you know?" Harry replied curiously.

"Horrid name," Draco responded with a mock shudder.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Right, and your name is so much better?"

"I'll have you know 'Draco' is prestigious and strong in magical background. What the hell is Otis? The brand of muggle lifts?" Draco countered.

"Oh, and what about your company's name? Meow?" he asked, unable to withhold his laughter. "What kind of nonsense is that?"

"I meant it to be funny," Malfoy protested. "It's easier to remember it that way."

They laughed and talked for the rest of the afternoon, arguing first about who started what fight in school and then moving onto debates over muggle rights in a magical society. They never once grew angry at one another, though Draco would get snippy on occasion and Harry would grow quiet when certain touchy subjects came up. All and all it was a very companionable evening and Harry couldn't believe he felt so comfortable with Draco Malfoy of all people.

It was later that evening that he first noticed the color of Draco's eyes.

They had left the pub and were walking in casual silence when Draco whirled Harry around to face him. "You deserve better than the rubbish you keep dating, Harry," he told him firmly. Harry could smell the faint aroma of the alcohol they had been consuming, but under that was the fragrance and flavor of power.

Harry always knew the taste of power because he had seen and felt his fair share of it throughout his life, but what Malfoy was exuding was different. It was far more subtle, and it filled his eyes with a stormy glimmer.

"It doesn't matter," Harry muttered, thinking more about how attractive Draco was than what Draco was talking about. It didn't matter what he thought of his former rival though, the man was straight and just being friendly, and further more- it was Malfoy.

"Exactly," He replied, ignorant to Harry's inner monologue. "Whatever he says about you doesn't matter, none of it does. You can't let a few cross words bring you down. You're better than the whole lot of them."

Harry grinned up at his new friend and blessed his stars that he hadn't had more to drink, otherwise he would have no doubt thrown himself on Malfoy only to look a fool in the end when Draco rejected him. "Thanks," was all he said in return.

"For?" Draco asked, looking perplexed.

"For skipping out on your fundraiser to talk with me and for being kind in spite of the git I was being to you," he answered.

A soft smile broke upon Draco's lips and he leaned into Harry, making his heart flutter at an indecent pace. For a brief moment he thought the blonde was going to kiss him, and he did, but not as Harry had hoped. Tender lips pressed against his forehead for a fraction of a second and then he pulled back again, intently studying Harry's face.

"I should go," he announced hastily, dropping into a low and patronizing bow. At some point Harry might have been offended by it, but after spending hours with the Slytherin he understood –or at least thought he did- that obscene formality was just Malfoy's way. "It was a pleasure, Harry, and I hope to see you again soon."

With that and a wink, he was gone, having spun into a fluid apparition and left Harry alone on the sidewalk.

The memory slowly faded as Harry looked down at the choices of clothing he had pulled from his closet. He had to keep telling himself that it wasn't a date, and that there was no need to stress over it, but it mattered very little what his mind said. In the end his willpower did win out though, and he went with a casual pair of dark gray denims and a thin vintage green tee-shirt, nothing fancy, nothing terribly flattering, nothing that would indicate he had been worrying over the decision for hours.

He tried not to scrutinize his hair, but still managed to spend more time on it than he normally would have if just going for drinks with Emily. With a deep breath and a muggle military jacket slung over his shoulders he left the quiet solitude of his cottage and headed toward the main hotel building and the ghost from his past that awaited him there.

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Fidgeting was not a pastime that Draco typically participated in, but as the clock struck quarter past eight, he began to nervously tap his glass thinking that Harry might have decided to stand him up. If that was the case, he had no idea what recourse- if any- he would have with the missing brunette.

Years of searching and hoping only to finally find his target and being shooed away left a bitter taste in his mouth. Had Harry been so oblivious to his affections when he decided to leave? Or was he all too aware of them and so disgusted by the idea that he felt the need to avoid Draco- and even London- altogether?

Draco shook his head, trying to clear away the negative cobwebs. There was a spark between them, even after all their years apart and he was certain that Harry must have felt it too. He'd have to be daft not to.

He pulled an olive from his martini glass and popped it into his mouth. His tastes had transfigured from lager and firewhiskey into more mature drinks, but his craving for Harry hadn't died; instead it intensified with each year he remained mysteriously unaccounted for.

Briefly he let his mind wander back to the time he had first had the nerve to speak to the hero after the war. Harry was looking morose and bored out of his mind at the luncheon he had thrown for a cause he knew Harry would show up for. Every other invitation Draco had sent to the elusive boy had gone unanswered, but that time he knew he had Harry just where he wanted him, and it was the perfect mood to find him in.

Had it not happened that way, and if Harry had shown up as his normally chipper self, no doubt Draco would have simply faded into the background in the sea of faces Harry greeted that day. Events might have turned out quite different, and he might not even be sitting there pining over someone who had run off and left him broken hearted.

Not that he could completely pin that on Harry. If he had been bolder, more blatant with his affections than perhaps Harry might have stayed to see things through. As it was Draco had waited a day too long even though the rest of his timing had been perfect.

He gave Harry room to make mistakes, figure out what he did and didn't want from a relationship, then he swooped in like a knight in pale armor and showed him that there was more for him out there, bigger, better things than what he had been wasting his time on. He could clearly remember the look in Harry's brilliant green eyes that first evening as they were walking from the pub. Draco fell, right then, head first into the pool of jewel tones as he told the man he had been thinking about for months that he was better than all the rest.

It was true too. The longer Draco thought about it the less people he could think of that compared to how strong, brave, beautiful and powerful Harry Potter was. And it only compounded when he had the chance to talk to him –really talk to him.

Then he nearly flubbed everything up because he almost kissed Harry right there in the street. What a mess that would have made, he could just imagine Harry shocked and running off or returning the kiss and then attributing it all to the alcohol later, and that was the last thing Draco wanted. So, instead of trying to fight temptation, he left and went back to his flat and stood under an ice cold shower.

He waited a week before contacting Harry again, and even then he made it more formal than he felt. It was a simple invitation to the same pub the following night, nothing abnormal- just a boy's night out. He thought that might be more appropriate than a 'hey Harry, I think about you all the time, fancy a date and maybe a shag' kind of letter.

Much to Draco's delight, Harry actually showed up and not only did he show up, he seemed genuinely pleased to be there. Things progressed much as they had the first time, a scathing comment here, an elbow to the rib there, all in good fun and they laughed at themselves and each other until the bar closed.

"Shit," Harry shouted, talking a bit louder than necessary because of the amount of Beamish in his system. "I had no idea it was so late."

"Have someplace to be tomorrow?" Draco asked, knowing full well that tomorrow was actually later today and that it was Saturday.

"No, I don't," Harry announced as if he were proud of the fact.

"Then perhaps we should take this party back to my flat?" Draco asked as casually as he could muster. Truth was he was dying to get Harry alone, partially so that the Gryffindor would feel more comfortable talking about more intimate things than favorite Quidditch teams and what his workweek consisted of but mostly he wanted him alone so that he could seduce him.

Despite his slight intoxication, however, Harry seemed on to his plan. "I think I might call it a night," he said, staring at Draco intently.

"Right," Draco agreed, albeit dejectedly. "Well, can I walk you to your apparition point?" he teased.

Harry chuckled and nodded so Draco looped his arm through the stumbling Gryffindor's and walked him down to the corner and into the mouth of the alleyway there. "Same time next week?" he asked hopefully, and Harry nodded, a cheeky grin forming on his usually pouting lips.

It happened that way for almost two months. Some nights Draco would suggest they go back to his place and every time Harry would refuse. He never bothered making excuses, just simply said that he thought he should 'call it a night' same as he had that first time. Every night Draco wanted to kiss him, and every night he refrained when Harry gave him mixed signals. Occasionally he thought he was on the same page as the Gryffindor Golden Boy, but other times he thought that maybe he had read Harry all wrong and that the raven-haired boy was truly only interested in friendship.

It wasn't until that final night, the Friday before the Ministry ball –the Friday before Harry left, that he knew he had to either lay it all out on the line or keep dancing back and forth and never really learn how Harry felt. Even if Harry rejected him outright, he figured it would be better than the cat and mouse game they had been playing for months. Not knowing was killing him.

Harry had come into the pub that night looking as delicious as ever in black and gray pinstriped trousers and a crisp pewter button-down shirt. The monochromatic look made his eyes sparkle against his flushed cheeks.

Harry's Beamish had already been ordered, as was customary for these meetings, but when the bartender brought it over, Harry didn't touch it. That was Draco's first sign that something was different- wrong.

"The Ministry Gala is tomorrow night," he stated, not indicating how he felt about it with inflection one way or the other.

"I'm aware," Draco replied with a faint smile.

"You'll be there then?" Harry asked and Draco nodded. "Are you taking someone?" he asked.

"I hope to be," Draco answered bemusedly, wondering if right then would be the best time to ask Harry to be his date.

"Oh," Harry replied, smiling the smile he did when he was hiding something. "Yeah, me too," he added. "I'm thinking of asking a bloke from the legal department. He's been chatting me up whenever I go downstairs to see Hermione."

"I see," Draco muttered, trying his best to look happy for this man that was supposed to be his friend. "Do you like him?"

"I don't _not_ like him, he seems nice enough," Harry responded with a noncommittal shrug.

"What if _we_ went together," Draco blurted.

Harry nearly choked on the air. "What? You mean, you and me?"

"Sure," he replied, trying to laugh about the apparent oddness of his suggestion. "I mean, it would keep either one of us from having to worry about lame dates."

"Draco," Harry began with narrowed eyes. "I know you're clever and all, but you haven't missed the part about me being gay right? I mean, if we show up at the Gala together, people are going to assume we're dating."

"I don't care what people say," Draco replied while never letting his gaze break away from Harry's.

"I don't want to ruin your reputation," he offered teasingly.

"You couldn't," Draco replied seriously. "I've slept with other men before, Harry. I've just never dated another man in public."

Harry's grin faltered slightly as he scrutinized Draco's face. "Are you being serious? All this time and you fail to mention…"

"It's not a big deal, Harry," Draco replied, trying to recuperate. The last thing he wanted was for Harry to think he was a liar. "It just never came up."

"All this time I've been thinking… well it doesn't really matter what I've been thinking does it?" he demanded and slid from the barstool. "I'll see you later, Malfoy," he muttered before storming out of the pub.

Draco followed him, but Harry was already gone by the time he reached the door. He didn't understand what just happened or why Harry was so angry. Draco knew the Gryffindor valued honesty, but he thought the constant come-ons and flirtations would have been enough to make Harry understand that Draco was attracted to him. Clearly that wasn't the case and now Harry was back home, probably cursing his name for being a big fat Slytherin liar.

He vowed to set everything straight at the Ministry Gala. He'd pull Harry away from the prat he would invite from Legal and tell him that he was infatuated with him. He'd tell Harry that he'd been falling deeper and deeper since that first afternoon and that he wanted a proper date with him once and for all. With his cards exposed Harry would have no choice but to be honest with him. Either: Harry felt the same, or he didn't- Draco would have to deal with it either way.

Only the Ministry Gala never came.

Well, it did, at least for Draco, but instead of causing a scene and declaring his adulation for the stubborn Gryffindor, he was left having to mingle alone through crowds of people he had wished were Harry.

"Sorry I'm late," muttered a soft voice behind him and Draco banished the foul memories in exchange for the enigmatic green eyes staring down at him.

"You're always late. I should be used to it by now," Draco replied, still feeling the sting of a rejection that was years ago.

"I'm only late with you," Harry replied with a smug grin.

"How do you mean?" Draco asked, his head tilted slightly in his confusion.

"I always make it to work on time, I'm always early for drinks with Emily, even when Hermione and Ron invited me over I'd be there on schedule. You, however, I like to make you wait on me," he finished with a low chuckle.

"Haven't I been doing enough waiting," Draco asked, reaching out a hand and looping it around Harry's wrist. Potter tried to pull back from the touch, but Draco wouldn't let him. "I've missed you, Harry."

The Gryffindor rolled his eyes and he looked the same in that moment that he had ages ago back when they were still teenagers and enemies. "You miss me? We were only friends for a couple months before I took off. Surely there was someone else you were closer with?"

"No. You were it, Harry," he replied firmly.

"Still," Harry began, but Draco cut him off with a pale finger across his lips.

"Tell me you don't miss me," he demanded, waiting for the man's answer, one way or the other he would settle this tonight.

"I have drinks with Emily instead of you now," Harry replied, arms crossed over his chest in a show of solidarity, only Draco could sense that there was a hole in it, a hole right where his heart should be.

"That's not what I asked. Tell me, Harry, do you miss me?" Draco repeated.

"Why does it matter?" Harry asked, eyes stubborn and narrowed.

"Because I asked you on a date four years ago and you left the country!" Draco shouted.

"I left because- what?" Harry asked, his eyes going from angry to gleaming with confusion.

"You heard me, Harry James Potter. I asked you to that Ministry Gala and you stormed out, then you had the nerve to leave London, even _leave England_," he added, gesturing to the very Irish setting around them. "But not bother leaving a forwarding address."

Harry shook his head and narrowed his eyes once more. "No. You asked to go with me as friends. I didn't want that."

"When did those words leave my mouth, Potter?" Draco asked menacingly.

"They… you… it was implied," Harry stammered.

A harsh bark of laughter escaped Draco's lips and he didn't care that everyone in the restaurant was staring at him. "I _implied_ that I was interested in you, Potter, but you didn't pick up on that?"

"All that time I thought you were just being friendly and that I was imagining the flirtations because you couldn't possibly be flirting with me - you were straight. Then I figure if you did want me, you'd just come out and say it, but you never did," he growled. "Then you tell me you'd been with other men, so clearly you were not as straight as I had guessed, but that still left the problem that you clearly didn't want me!"

"What do you call inviting you home with me every night?" Draco demanded.

"Teasing!" Harry shouted back at him. "At least for me. I wouldn't have been able to keep myself off of you if I had been alone with you. I wasn't going to throw myself at a straight man and ruin our friendship!"

All Draco could do was gape at Harry as the puzzle of misunderstandings fell into place. "And when you asked me if I was taking someone to the Gala?"

"You said you hoped to be," Harry informed him.

"And you, of course, didn't realize I was talking about _you_," Draco noted, and Harry shook his head. "So you made someone up so that you didn't look silly for asking?"

"I didn't make him up," Harry protested. "But obviously I never asked him."

"Because you left," Draco whispered with sullen eyes.

"I didn't feel like I had a choice," Harry replied, his posture still defensive but his eyes were pleading Draco to understand.

"You could have _talked_ to me," Draco reasoned.

"You could have been honest with _me_," Harry countered.

"If you only left because of me-" Draco began, still irritated at the Gryffindor for simply bolting over a silly misunderstanding, but Harry narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

"I know you'd like to think that the world revolves around you, but it doesn't. You were only one of many reasons that I left England, Draco," Harry told him honestly. "Work, the press, my friends… it was all falling in on me."

"Oh," Draco muttered, realizing for the first time since Harry left that there might be another reason, something completely unrelated to their weekend dates, that made Harry run away. Draco had always assumed it was something he did, or something he said that had caused their rift because it seemed too much of a coincidence to believe otherwise.

Harry smirked slightly and shook his head in mock dismay. "You really thought it was all about you, didn't you?"

"I might have been under that assumption, but it's hardly my fault. You left right after we fought, what was I to think?" he asked.

"Well, now you don't have to worry so much," Harry placated and placed his hand on Draco's shoulder. "You can go back to London with a guilt free conscience knowing that you didn't drive poor Harry Potter away from England and you can move on," he added with a laugh.

Draco's stomach churned at the idea of leaving there without Harry, and even more at how aloof the other man talked about it, as if it were a given that Draco would abandon him there. He wouldn't do it though, not if there was even a chance that Harry still had feelings for him. He didn't care what bothered Harry about London, he would drag the Gryffindor back kicking and screaming if he had to.

"How do you think of me now?" Draco asked, feeling Harry's hand tense slightly on his shoulder.

"Pardon?" Harry asked, clearly just trying to buy time to form a suitable fib.

"Do you still have feelings for me, or have you moved on," he asked delicately, trying to banish all emotion from his face.

"I've moved on," Harry replied after a moment of hesitation. "I'm happy here, Draco."

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Harry waited for Draco to respond, call him a liar, admit defeat, something – anything, but all Malfoy did was stare at him as if he had three heads and one of them was sporting vibrant pink hair. It hurt him to lie to Draco, not that it was a total fiction, he was happy there in his own way, but even upon learning that the former Slytherin had carried his own torch, he just couldn't face going back to London.

The looks of disappointment and anger on the faces of his old friends haunted him, the lack of career options weighed heavily on his shoulders, and the press –who would make a field day out of his sudden return- would be far too brutal to deal with. He didn't want to go back, even if he did want Draco, and he wasn't selfish enough to make Draco leave his own life behind and stay with him.

Draco sighed then and nodded, as if resigning himself to move on as Harry instructed. He slid from the barstool and extended his hand for Harry to shake; a symbol of friendship and acceptance –or so Harry thought.

The moment he took Draco's hand a spark went through him, electric and true and a second later Draco used their joined hands to pull Harry to him in an almost violent kiss. The world melted around him and the noise of the restaurant faded into a dull buzz in his ears as he found his lips irrevocably linked to Draco's. The Slytherin tasted of brine and alcohol and his mouth was urgent in his attack, as if that was his final persuasive maneuver and he was putting all of his chips on the table with that one bet. Before he had time to rationalize, Harry was responding, hands moving immediately to bury themselves in Draco's hair and pulled him closer. Tongues tangled in a dance for dominance that Draco easily won as he snaked his pale arms around Harry's waist and buried his fingertips into the flesh over Harry's hipbones.

When they broke apart, simply for the purpose of breathing, they just stared at one another from inches away, foreheads pressed together and eyes unblinking. "You fight dirty," Harry whispered when he could find a voice to speak with.

"I have Slytherin in my blood," Draco responded with a smug curl to his lips.

"I can't go back," Harry admitted sullenly, ignoring Draco's joke.

"You can and you will," Draco responded, tightening his grip on Harry's waist.

Harry gave him a bemused smile and rolled his eyes. "What are you, my ruby slippers?"

"Your what?" Draco asked with a frown, clearly not grasping the muggle pop culture reference.

"Nevermind," Harry chuckled. "What makes you so certain that I will?"

"Because I want you to come back with me and I'll be deeply offended if you rejected me again," Draco replied, his eyes more serious than the smile on his lips and the teasing in his voice. "You wouldn't want a Malfoy to be cross with you."

"I don't know," Harry muttered, his own eyes just as serious in his conflicted state.

Draco had no words for that response; instead he merely ran his thumb lightly along Harry's bottom lip, causing a shiver to rocket through his body. "Come home with me," he whispered softly replacing his thumb with his teeth.

Harry whimpered, having dreamed of such an intimate exchange with Draco but never imagining it could be so intoxicating. He was won over heart and soul and resented the blonde slightly for making him so instantly addicted.

"It'll be hard," Harry replied at last, fear of the hurt friends he had left behind flooding into his mind.

"Harder than being without me?" Draco asked, pulling back slightly to look at Harry more levelly. He seemed to be studying Harry's eyes while his own were torn between worried and hopeful.

Harry didn't even give it a second thought. At this point he couldn't think of anything that would be harder than losing Draco again, especially now that he had a taste of the bond they could share. "No, nothing would be harder than that."

A quick sigh of relief washed over him and before he realized it, Draco was pulling him away from the restaurant. "Aren't you hungry?" Harry teased. "We never actually ate dinner."

Exquisite gray eyes turned back to him and his lips curved into a predatory smile. "I'm hungry, just not for food," he replied in a seductive tone. "Anyhow, you never finished the massage. You owe me," he added with a wink and pulled a chuckling Harry close as they made their way up to Draco's room.

FIN

Authors Note: Oiled up Draco anyone?


End file.
